


Ages

by MyOwnReality



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Depiction of Suicide, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of Rape, More Tags Added With Each Chapter, Slow Build, Start as Children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnReality/pseuds/MyOwnReality
Summary: Growing up through the ages, dealing with his mother's suicide, his father's abuse, and the things that come with that. Ian's parents are absent, dad's a drunk who is only home when he is unwanted, mother an unmedicated bipolar who is never there. Despite the similarities, they're very different, yet they still manage to grow up together as close friends, until they get older and can explore what their friendship truly means, despite anything that may come between as they grow up in the Southside.





	1. Mickey - 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey was only six years old when his whole life changed with the death of his mother, and the so-called destruction of his dad. The death had ruined him, but no one was more effected then his dad as he resorted to violence and drugs. Mickey was only six years old.

Mickey was only six years old when he heard it, the gunshot echoing through the paper thin walls of their house. He was only six when he felt completely numb, having no clue what just happened yet knowing exactly what had gone down all at once.

Mickey was only six when he willed his feet to move, slowly building the strength to search for the noise that was still rippling through the walls, the loudest sound that could only be described as deafening silence.

Mickey was only six when he walked into his parent's room, and looked at the sight in absolute horror, trying to wrap his brain around what it meant when none of his thoughts seemed to work. The only thought that he could make sense of was that she was gone and was never coming back. His mom was dead.

Mickey was only six when he fell down onto his knees, to engrossed in his own tears to notice the sounds of the police circling around him, the feeling of a man pulling him away so he couldn't see, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, asking where his father was, telling him everything was going to be okay.

However even as his vision was moved so that his mother's lifeless body wasn't in his line of sight, it was all he could see as he looked blankly at the wall ahead of him, imagining the spray of blood, his mother's blood, the blood he had seen only a moment ago. Closing his eyes, he couldn't help the tears that seemed to pour as he pictured her, laying there with the gun loosely in her hand and the spray of blood on the walls, but mostly the puddle of blood that seemed to engulf her body, his porcelain skin turning to something of nightmares.

Everything was a blur as he was lead to a police station, sat down in front of a trauma counselor and told it was okay, he could cry. He couldn't cry anymore though, his eyes were dry and his thoughts were numb. Everything felt like a blur, his senses dulled, as he fell back into his thoughts. 

Everything was a blur as his dad stormed through the doors of the station, trying to mask his sadness with anger. He couldn't remember much else but the feeling of his father tugging on the back of his shirt. 'It's time to go,' He had said.

Mickey was only six when his father struck him for the first time, not that it would be the last. He lay there, and as his mind swarmed his body remained lifeless as his father yelled, trying to bite back his tears. Mickey could see the look in his father's eyes, he was afraid. As he father sat down, leaning back against the wall, holding his knees, Mickey had never seen him look so small as his dad finally let a tear leave his eye. It wasn't much, but to his dad, Terry, it was everything. He would rather show anger, hit his youngest son, then to show his tears.

Mickey was only six years old when his whole life changed.

His dad started coming home drunk every night, starting to mask his emotions with drugs. He would come home violent, urging to take his pain out on someone, anyone, other than himself. At the moment, his dad had learned to not hit him, instead, he turned to the walls, littering them with holes, but he supposed it was better than the bruises he left marking his skin.

However some days he still left the house with bruises, from the nights when his father came home blackout drunk. The only thought that Terry could seem to hold on to was that his wife was dead, that his son was there when it happened, that maybe he could have stopped it. It was that train of thought that ruined his dad. It was that train of thought that caused his dad to do anything to mask it, resorting to drugs and violence.

After just about a month, his dad was fired, sent to jail for the first time when Mickey showed up to school with a fresh bruise marking his cheek and when they asked him what happened it was as if the dams burst and he couldn't help but tell them everything. Well, almost everything. Mickey's home was searched and his father was sent away for a bit, but it wasn't long enough.

Mickey was only six years old when he fell into a routine; wake up, go to school, don't let your emotions show - unless it's anger, anger was okay. Come home, cower in your room, and most importantly, avoid dad. Mickey was only six years old when his whole life changed with the death of his mother, and the so-called destruction of his dad. The death had ruined him, but no one was more effected then his dad as he resorted to violence and drugs. Mickey was only six years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So essentially the idea for this is that each chapter will be a different age, their age told Year.Month so in the first chapter, Mickey is six. Whoever the chapter is titled after, it's from that point of view. As you already read, Starts with Mickey as six, and the story will not be the same as the Shameless story but the setting and general characters will be the same. I hope you enjoy. Also for my story, I would say Ian is about 1 year, 3 months younger than Mickey. I don't know the accuracy of that, however, that is what I am going with. It will not only be from Ian and Mickey's point of views but it will mostly be from theirs. When I do it from someone else's point of view I'll remind you the age of Ian and Mickey so you know if/how much time has passed so the time aspect all lines up. Okay, this is a pretty long note, thank you guys for reading, I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Terry - 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose that’s when he realized he was no better then his father, the father that had once ruined him like he would inevitably do to his son. Maybe he became like him due to how he was raised, or maybe the apple just didn’t fall that far from the tree, and honestly, he didn’t know which one scared him more.

The fact that Terry still remembered certain events from his childhood like they had only happened yesterday only confirmed that he would never forget. He liked to think that he wasn’t always a hateful person, however with how he had adapted to his surroundings, he had grown nothing short of cold.

When he was younger he used to search for the reason. Naturally, there were plenty of reasons, no ill spirit is born on one incident. If he really had to say, his temperament started changing when he was almost ten. Some kids were picking on him, apparently, everyone had already heard how his mom had run away with a girl. 

‘He’s gonna be a faggot, just like his mom.’

‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’

‘Oh look, the faggot is crying.’

‘What are you going to do, go crying to your mommy?’

‘Oh wait, your mom left you.’

He hadn’t always been a hateful person. He still remembered a time when his view of the world was a little lighter, however, when he came home that night, crying with a bruised rib from being kicked repeatedly, he was met only with a cold shoulder.

‘Stop crying you fucking faggot. If I knew you were gonna be like your mom I’d have killed you by now.’

He still remembered the words as they rung through his head, and he struggled to hold back his tears. He didn’t want his dad to be mad, he was violent when he was mad.

‘I’m sorry pops.’ He still remembers saying as he walked to his room only to be met with a hand grabbing his arm, tugging him back until he found himself laying on his ass.

‘Faggots don’t deserve to apologize. Faggots only leave, only run, leaving me with a fucking ten-year-old son who deserved to die the second a fag brought him into the world.’ At this point Terry was simply laying there, being kicked repeatedly in the stomach as his father muttered the words to him, even as he could tell they were directed at somebody else.

I suppose you could say that was the day he learned to hate. The day his father learned to take his anger out on him, calling him a faggot and telling him that if so he deserved to die. He didn’t want to listen to what he said, but we couldn’t help but believe the words. The only fag he had event known and grown to love left him with his dad, left him to his newfound abuse.

When he was sixteen he ran away, not far, but he left the house, scraping together the money he earned from his job to afford a place to live, pitching together the money with some people he honestly doesn’t even remember the names of anymore.

Eighteen years old, he remembers this girl, Kateryna, asking him if he had a spare bedroom she could move into. She told him she was good for a few months rent. Shortly after she claimed a bed, helping to pitch in on the rent.

It didn’t take long before they started talking, finding how much they truly had in common. They were both running from something. 

Over time Terry grew to love her. It was as if she was the knot tying together the loose string holding all his broken pieces together. She had a hold on his heart and he never wanted her to let go.

Over time they only fell more and more in love. They got married, had kids, but that wasn’t enough and eventually, she got sick. 

Terry was almost 35 when a police officer showed up at his job, tapping lightly on the wooden door.

“Come in,” Terry replied to the light tapping, causing the cop to walk inside, head held gravely.

The cop sat down slowly, looking solemnly at his palms resting his lap before taking a deep breath and speaking. “I am so sorry to inform you but your wife was found dead. Shot in the head, we believe it was a suicide.” With this, it was as if his head had gone numb as he struggled to recognize the words being said. “We got the call from a neighbor hearing a gunshot. Your son, Mikhailo, was found at the scene. No evidence links him to it. He’s currently at the station talking to a trauma counselor.”

All Terry could do was stare blankly ahead as he slowly tried to process what he had heard. He had to have heard wrong, she couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t leave him like this. “What?” Is all he could muster.

“We are so sorry for your loss Mr. Milkovich.” With that the cop slowly rose, exiting the office. 

‘She is dead. Kateryna is dead.’ Those were the only thoughts running through his head as he stared blankly ahead, trying to will himself to feel something, anything, but only feeling an empty and dull ache.

I guess it makes sense that he would turn out like his dad, taking his anger out on his son. Mostly he just wanted to forget everything. A week before his 35th birthday he showed up to work completely drunk causing him to be fired. He started resorting to selling drugs and using what he couldn’t sell for a cheap thrill.

Mostly he just felt numb, shattered. The string holding his loose pieces together had been completely torn, ripped to pieces. All that remained were the fragments as he tried to pick them up with alcohol and other drugs. However, he could only hold the pieces for so long before the drugs wore off and he remembered why. 

It was almost as if he had no control over his body anymore when he drank. Combining cocaine with vodka, anything to forget. Unfortunately, he’d also forgotten how hard he’d hit his son as he noticed him wake up with bruises, and in a futile attempt to forget his newest mistake he’d drink again, and again. Anything to forget.

It didn’t catch up to him until he’d been 35 for a few months and he woke up in jail. I suppose that’s when he realized he was no better than his father, the father that had once ruined him like he would inevitably do to his son. Maybe he became like him due to how he was raised, or maybe the apple just didn’t fall that far from the tree, and honestly, he didn’t know which one scared him more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terry is a piece of shit, no doubt about it, however, I thought it’d be interesting to write a short little thing about why. Nobody is born with so much hate after all. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading. Feel free to comment below if you enjoyed, it means a lot to me.


	3. Ian - 6

"Hey! Hey! Fuck..." The girl screamed at the passing car as it rolled down the dirt road, seeming to either not notice or simply not care to pay attention to the thirteen-year-old girl on the side of the road, who stood there on the tips of her toes in what appeared to be an attempt to get as close to the cars as possible, with an outstretched arm and an upwards facing thumb. It only took a minute before another car appeared with no luck. At this point, her frustration was palpable as her once outstretched arm squeezed her thigh and she moves to sit beside her brothers. "Where the fuck is Frank?" She muttered under her breath, remembering her dad saying he'd be back soon.

"Frank doesn't really matter right not. Any luck getting us a ride?" Her nine-year-old brother, Phillip, asked as he looked over at her, massaging the red locks on his little brother's head in his lap. "He's not getting any better." He told Fiona as he looked towards the weak, pale face in his lap, his skin skinning due to the cold sweat encasing his slim figure.

"Does it look like I had any luck with a ride?" Fiona snapped, before pausing to amend herself. "Sorry... I just don't know what to do. He's only six Lip. Where the fuck is Frank?!" What am I supposed to do?" She asked as tears started to pool in her eyes.

Attempting to hide his own fear with a strong front for his panicked sister, he simply rested a light hand on her shoulder, continuing to look at his sick little brother laying asleep on his lap as if there was nothing wrong in the world. even as they sat directly and lost on the side of the road. Maybe this wouldn't be the worst way for him to go. "He'll- It'll be okay Fi."

"How do you know?" She asked once again as she slowly turned her head out of her hands, looking directly at her brother as the stains left from her tears marked her eyes. "You're my little brother, I should be taking care of you, not the other way around, but I can't even do that right."

"Fi, you're only thirteen. It isn't your job to take care of us." Lip soothed.

"But you're only nine. He's only six. I'm the big sister here, I'm supposed to fix this, but I can't. I don't know how. Where the fuck is Frank?!" She said softly before raising her voice and standing up suddenly with the last sentence, resuming her previous position of trying to flag down cars.

"Frank it's coming Fiona." He paused. "He never comes," Lip said quietly, entrances with the pale skin of the sleeping boy below him, hoping he'd be alright. "He's a fighter Fi, we all are."

A few minutes later and a car finally comes to a halt, slowly rolling down his window as he spoke with a slight southern drawl. "Can I help you, little lady?"

"My brother," She phrased, motioning to the sick redhead asleep in Phillip's lap with her thumb, "He's very sick. We need a ride to a hospital. Any chance you could help us?"

"Get in." He replied simply as he unlocked the car door. Fiona slowly entered the front passenger seat as Lip picked up his brother, slowly entering the back seat. "So what got y'all along out here? It ain't no place for a sick boy."

"Don't we know." Lip mused under his breath before Fiona spoke.

"Dad left this morning. Said he'd be back in a little over an hour. Claimed he needed to stop somewhere, somewhere not appropriate for kids. Personally, I think being left alone on the street is less safe for kids then whatever his excursion was. Anyway, that was about eight hours ago and the little guy back there's fever keeps getting worse." She retold as he sped down the long road towards the nearest hospital before finally arriving. Once there, he unlocked the doors again, signaling without words for them to go. "Thank you so much, sir. Means a lot."

"You're welcome, little lady. Hope your brother's alright." He replied as they funneled out of the car.

Once the car door was shut and the a promptly drove off, they wasted no time entering the hospital. Walking in, Lip found a seat, bringing the sleeping boy with him as Fiona approached the lady at the front desk. "My brother," She started, motioning in his direction like he had earlier, "He has a bad fever. Been asleep a little over an hour. Hasn't gotten any better."

"Okay, everything should be alright. Is there a parent around?" The lady at the front desk asked.

"No. Is that a problem? He's really unwell ma'am." Fiona told, gripping the sides of the desk until her knuckles turned slightly white.

"We'll take care of him." She said as she rolled back her chair slightly and turned her attention to the nurse looking at charts behind her. "Phil, check on the red-head in the waiting room. Bad fever." 

"Which one?" He asked, barely paying attention to what she was saying as he continued looking at the charts in his hand, focusing fully on them.

"There's only one Phil." She replied, annoyance evident in her voice as he slowly placed the binder currently in his hands on the stack beside him and scanned the room before walking over to the boy. With this, the lady at the desk redirected her attention to Fiona. "What's his name sweetie?"

"Ian. Ian Gallagher."

"Okay, and who are you in relation?" She asked.

"I'm his older sister."

"And where are your parents."

"I was watching them. I'm thirteen."

"So you don't know where your parents are?" She collected.

"No, I'm sorry. Will he be alright?"

"I'm sure he will, Phil is with him right now. So you have no clue where your mother or father is?"

"My father said he's back but he was meant to be back hours ago. I'm sure he'll show up soon."

"Okay, well Phil is taking him to room 103. That's the first empty room in the pediatric wing. He'll probably be monitored, placed on an IV. Without a legal guardian to sign off, we can't do anything else unless deemed absolutely necessary. Would you like to go to room 103 with your brother? I'm assuming the one holding him is also his sibling."

"Yes, he is. Thank you so much." She said as she slowly released her grip on the desk and walked over to Lip. "Let's go. He brought him to room 103."

"I know, the nurse, I believe he said his name was Phil, said so. I was waiting for you." Lip replied standing up beside Fiona as they slowly started walking down the supposed pediatric wing, closely checking each room number before entering room 103.

When entering the were met with Ian, still fast asleep on the hospital bed with a needle in his arm. Phil was standing beside the IV bag, a new small, light blue, one-inch binder in his hand. "You're brother will be alright. Needs to get some fluids in his system, hence the IV, but he should be alright, the fever should go down soon. You made the right call bringing him here." 

"Thank you," Fiona said before sitting down in one of the chairs in the corner of the room as Lip follow, sitting down beside her as Phil set down the binder behind the hospital bed and left the room, shutting the door behind them.

~~~

The next morning, Ian woke up groggily, taking in his surroundings slowly. His siblings were asleep in uncomfortable chairs across the room, Lip's head resting on Fiona's shoulder. Frank was still not back, of course, he wasn't. Continuing to glance around the room I lifted my head, groaning from a headache that caused, before laying my head back down and raising my arm slightly as a substitute to look at the needle putting fluid in my veins.

I was at a hospital. As I continued to regain consciousness, I looked for the right words to say, before deciding on some and starting to speak, only for the words to come out sounding like a croak. It was enough to garner my sister's attention as her head popped up and her eyes opened wide. With slightly glazed over vision I watch as she pushes Lips' head from her shoulder lightly, just enough to wake him, as he blinks slowly to familiarize himself with the fluorescent lights. "Lip, Ian's up," Fiona whispered to Lip, however, her relief was evident and her words came out more like a stage whisper.

With that they both stood up, walking over to my side as Fiona took my hand in hers. "So glad you're alright. Don't know what I would'a have done if anything happened to you."

Trying to speak again words didn't want to come out as I tried to speak, throat so dry it hurt, but almost illegally, I was able to mutter, "Water."

With that Fiona, all of a sudden seeming to realize where we were, spoke. "Fuck, Lip, how do we get Phil?" She asked as she looked around the bed, taking in the surroundings as last night she was too focused on her sick brother to notice much else. With that, she noticed a small button, with the word 'call' written promptly above it. "Nevermind, I got it." She said as she tapped the button, calling whoever was to come. "We'll get you some water, Ian. You'll be alright."

With that, Phil showed up, quickly taking in the people in the room. "Did we just wake up?"

"Yes, he mentioned water," Fiona replied.

"Of course, we'll get that soon. So he's talking?" Phil asked, grabbing the chart placed behind the hospital bed and opened it, seeming to take notes.

Before Fiona could speak, Ian shook his head no. Without being interrupted, Lip took the chance to speak this time. "Barely. He said water. I think he tried to say some other things. That's about it."

"Well, I will be right back with something to drink. That should fix his speaking dilemma. In the meantime let me check how his fever is progressing." Phil responded, setting down the chart once again and reaching for a thermometer. "Open your mouth please, this will go on your tongue." He said to Ian, placing the thermometer under his tongue to collect his temperature. Once he pulled back the thermometer. he quickly looked at the number, wrote it in his chart, before quickly coming back with water, along with some other fluids.

"What's going on? What was his temperature?" Lip asked suspiciously. 

"It seems his fever has worsened. Rose a degree. One hundred five." Phil responded, setting down the cup of water with the straw poking out and going over to his IV to replace the bag. "Any sign of your parents?" He asked conversely.

"Not yet. Should we do anything?" Fiona asked as she slowly ran her hand through her hair, scrunching her hair as her hand balled into a fist before she let go and placed her hand on her side.

"Just please be seated," Phil responded. With that I seemed to nod out again, drifting into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It goes without saying that Ian will be fine, I just didn't know how to finish the chapter properly and I don't know enough medical things to go on with hospital scenes so he fell asleep because he's very sick. In the timeline, Mickey is almost 8. Thank you guys for reading, sorry for a late upload. I would like to say it won't happen again but I suck so who really knows. Comments are never expected but always appreciated. Okay, that's all (for now), have a great day.


	4. Mickey - 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was in that moment that there was no longer a shadow of a doubt. No matter the reasons, this was not alright, it was not normal, and he couldn't go back, no matter what that truly meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: abuse, mentions of rape  
> I'm sorry in advance.

"Mick?" She muttered timidly from behind the door.

"Yeah Mands?" Mickey responded, in the same quiet tone, having no reason why but feeding off of her nervousness.

"Can I come in?" She asks, strengthening her argument with a light tap on the door.

"Yeah, of course. Come in." Mickey replied, scooting over slightly in his bed as to make room for when Mandy inevitably sat beside him. That's what she did, walked in, closed the door behind her, and plopped down right beside him, turning slightly to look him in the eyes, as if she was considering the best way to word her next question, before a look of 'fuck it' crossed over her face and she decided to be blunt.

"Does dad hit you? I mean you always have these bruises, never on your face but I've seen them all over your chest and I've heard you... muttering to yourself. You're always in your room, I never see you. I see you even less when dad's around."

"Why do you care Mandy? You know how dad gets, he gets angry sometimes. Has since mom died." Mickey replies with a sigh as if the question drawn away all of his energy.

"So he does?" Mandy infers.

"Mandy, it doesn't concern you. You're too young." Mickey replies tiredly, lacking the energy to word it any differently even as he can feel the words on her tongue before they're said because to Mandy it seems like the only proper response to being told she's too young.

"Too young? We're the same age, Mick. He's been like this since we were six, we were too young, not just me. We're in this together Mickey." She replied with a bit of desperation, continuing to keep her voice barely above a whisper to guarantee her dad can't hear from the living room couch.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Oh come the fuck on Mick. I want to help." She replies, her voice rising slightly.

"And how do you suppose you'll do that? It's been two years and he still blames me." He replies tiredly as his eyes start to water slightly, regardless of how hard Mickey tries to keep them at bay.

"Blames you?" Mandy asks as if she never even considered that outcome, like she's still tasting the possibility on her tongue as she says it out loud, under her breath.

"You seemed to figure everything else out but not that? He blames me for mom Mands. After all, I was the one home, I could've stopped it." Mickey replies, anger evident in his voice as a faux attempt to hide his emotions.

"How can he blame you for that? You were six." Mandy asks because the whole premise of him being blamed for her moms declining mental health doesn't seem to make any sense no matter how much she tries to work it into her brain.

"I was the only one home, Mandy. Sometimes it's easier to blame someone else than accept that there is nothing he could've done. So he blames me. He doesn't have to say it, I can see it how he looks at me, he wishes it was me, not her." He responds simply as if no other option makes any sense, because he's spent the past two years trying to find any other reason as to his dad's cruel nature to him, and only him. No matter how hard he thinks about it, this is the only one that makes any sense, it all started that day after all. A part of him has always been relieved that it's only him, while a sick part wishes he wasn't alone in his pain because he knows no matter how good Mandy's intentions are, they won't change anything, and they won't fully understand.

"Bu-but it was his gun she used. If anything..." She stammers.

"It's easier to blame someone else than yourself. Dad may not have been the best dad or husband but he loved mom with every fiber of his being. He blames himself, he always will rather he should or not, but he doesn't want to, so he finds someone else to blame."

"How do you know Mick? We could always tell someone, he'd have to stop then, right?" She asks with a slight amount of hopefulness behind her words. 

"What else have I done to deserve it? We can't tell anyone Mandy, that'll only make things worse. You think dad wouldn't find out we snitched? You think he hates me now?" Mickey responds with a certain unseen coldness in his eyes, as he curls up, leaning against the wall, until his knees rest right below his chin with his arms wrapped around his shins, holding them in place.

"We have to do something, Mick." She replies, her determination slightly altered but remaining.

"Mandy, there is nothing to do. It only got worse the last time he got out, nothing sticks."

"What about DCFS?" Mandy asks, quietly, as if even she doesn't like the suggestion she just made.

"And fuck up you and Igg's life because dad beats on me. The foster care system doesn't exactly seem like much of an improvement." Mickey responds, the coldness remaining in his eyes as he stares blankly ahead. "It doesn't matter Mandy, I'm used to it. As long as he's not hurting you."

"And what if he does? Hurt me that is." Mandy asks, her voice falling even as the volume stays the same.

With that Mickey turns to face her, looking directly into her brown eyes with his blue. "Then we get the fuck out of here. Until then, we stay here and we stay out of trouble, it's easiest this way. Now, as much as I enjoy our conversations, I'm kinda done with this topic."

"I'm gonna get us out of here Mick." She replies determination refueled and running her veins no matter what she has been told,

"Mandy..."

"I'm getting you fucking help, Mickey." She demands.

"Mandy it'll only make things worse." Mickey insists, but by the tone of his voice, he seems unsure, almost as if he doesn't really believe it, as if he's just reciting the mantra in his head.

"Than what? He beats you, Mickey, do you not realize how fucked up that is or has it slipped too far into your definition of normalcy? Because guess what, that makes it worse." She declares, even as she continues to keep her voice to a volume contained in the room.

"Please just get out Mandy, I want to be alone right now." Mickey sighs, defeated and drained from this conversation.

"You always want to be alone." With that, she stands out, waiting barely even a second before she is on her feet and out the room, door slamming in her wake.

~~~

It was only a few hours later when Mandy had left the house, leaving Mickey alone in his room while his dad drunk on the couch in the living room. He couldn't honestly blame Mandy for what she'd said, but he knew she didn't understand, she wouldn't be able to, and that was for the best. It was better this way, at least this way no one else was hurt. It was then his dad walked into his room, seemingly unfazed by the closed door as he walked past and into the restroom, the constant stream of urine hitting Mickey's ears telling him what his dad was doing without words. It was odd how something so obscure could calm him as if a voice in his head was saying 'he's not here for you, he just has to piss.'

It was when Terry left the restroom, standing slouched yet intimidating in his room, that Mickey knew that maybe a part of him was in there for him. "Mandy was in here for a while."

"Yeah, we were just talking." He replied, trying his hardest to seem unfazed by his presence even as his voice shook slightly.

"I hope you kept your mouth shut boy. For your sake." He replied menacing, almost as if he knew exactly what they said without any real tell.

"Of course." He replied as confidently as he could, which come out just above a squeak.

"Are you scared of me boy?" Terry asked, walking slightly closer to Mickey. The alcohol on his tongue hitting his nose, the scent so wretched he could taste it.

"I try not to be." He replies honestly, figuring there is no point in lying on this front.

With that Terry rubs his stomach lazily as he pushes it out slightly in a sort of a weak stretch, him standing there shirtless, towering over the sitting boy. "It's best you are afraid, at least if you're afraid you're less likely to do something stupid and reckless like telling your sister," Terry says grimly, with a slight smirk starting to play on his face at Mickey's seemingly frozen expression of fear, no matter how hard he tried to hide the expression, it shining through just perfectly in his azure eyes.

"I didn't do anything wrong." He replies, but the fear in his voice gives him away.

"Don't lie to me boy. It'll only be worse if you lie." Terry replies sternly, a cold grin on his face at his son's fear.

"I didn't tell anyone anything dad." He replies pleadingly.

"What did I just say about lying boy?" He replies coldly, squatting until he is sitting on his feet, looking straight into level Mickey's eyes.

"Don't." He mutters, just barely noticeable.

"Exactly, don't. So why would you boy?" He asks though he doesn't expect an answer.

"I-" He's interrupted with a harsh kick in the stomach as his dad stood, picking him up and throwing him to the ground.

"Don't lie to me boy." He emphasizes each word with another kick in the ribs, causing Mickey to grunt in pain as he curls in on himself, in a failed attempt to protect himself.

With that Terry squats down again, looking directly at Mickey's face. "I don't think you understand me, boy. Where have I been unclear? I don't touch your face, even though anything I could do would only serve as an improvement by the looks of you. I take the steps so no one knows yet you feel inclined to run your mouth? You should thank me, you got a roof over your head, food in your belly, yet you disrespect me. What good do you think you did? You know what, don't tell me, I'll figure it out" He finishes, ending his speech with a well-placed punch directly at Mickey's nose, followed by one after another until his nose looks like little more than a bloody mess. His nose looks so obscured that at the moment it seems unlikely it was ever normal.

It doesn't take long until things seem to go black around the edges until that is all there is and he's swept under by the darkness, wrapped up in its embrace.

~~~

It's around five in the morning what Mickey shoots awake, lurching forward as his vision blurred and his head spun causing him to fall back on the bed. The bed, he starts looking around before realizing where he is, he's in Iggy's room at his girlfriend's house. Iggy has moved into her house a couple years ago once they got all hot and heavy, they still live at her parent's house at seventeen years old, but even as he recognizes where he is, he doesn't understand why.

"Oh good, you're awake," Iggy says as he sees him. "I was afraid you would stay out and I'd have to take you to a hospital. That shit's expensive."

"Why the fuck am I here?" Mickey asks, his voice rough.

"You got your ass handed to you. I went home to get some weed from dad, and there you are on the porch all bloody. It's like you dragged your ass home but couldn't manage to pass the front door." Iggy recites as his brother stares at him confused, urging him on.

"Well, dad wasn't home so I took you here. Cassie got you cleaned up, put on some Neosporin? I'm not sure what the shit is called but it's supposed to help, and some band-aids. You were passed out for a few hours there bro."

With that Mickey simply slouches back into the bed, seemingly calmed by his brother's words. "Where's Mandy?"

"How the fuck should I know?" He replies simply as if the answer would be obvious.

"She wasn't home?" He reiterates.

"No?" He replies, confused by his worry. In Iggy's mind, it was only logical that Mandy was staying with a friend. If she could, she always would be with a friend, staying as far from home as possible.

"Fuck," Mickey mutters under his breath at this as he moves his hand to cover his face, only to find his arm incredibly sore.

"What happened?" Iggy asked suddenly, taking residence at the end of the bed and looking up at his little brother.

"As you said, I got my ass handed to me." He replied simply as he swung his legs over the bed, taking note of the pain soaring up his legs and the bandage wrapped tightly around his stomach. "Oh god, everything hurts, even my ass hurts." He jokes slightly with a slight smile due to his humor, taken aback by Iggy's look of fear as if he is afraid of how he may react.

"Do you not even remember?" Iggy asked lightly.

"I remember being kicked in the ribs and punched in the face, don't remember much past that." He replied simply.

"I don't know what happened, but I think there was more than just that," Iggy replies sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"Cassie ran you a bath to clean you up." He replied as if that explained everything.

"So?" He asked, urging him on.

"Mickey, who did this?" 

"Can't say, that's what got me into this mess in the first place," Mickey replies simply, hoping that'll stop him from asking.

"You mean this wasn't the first time?" Iggy picks up from the statement, it not needing to be said to be heard. 

"First time I blacked out." He responds rather than addressing the real question.

"Who did this Mickey?" Iggy asks his voice sterner this time, no room for argument in his tone.

"If I tell you will you tell me the significance of this bath that you ignored earlier?" Mickey asks, trying to bring humor to this situation in a failed attempt to lessen the tension in the room.

"Who did this to you?" He asks again, inadvertently answering Mickey's question.

"Dad," Mickey replied quietly, looking down, twirling his thumbs through his nerves. He doesn't even need to look up to notice the frozen, petrified, downright homicidal, look on his brother's face.

"Dad?!" He exclaims, anger coursing through his veins.

"Iggy, calm down. It's not the first time." Mickey says, trying to calm down his insatiable brother.

"Not the first time?! I'm getting you fucking out of there." Iggy replies, pacing around the room in circles in his anger.

"So what Iggy, he hit me, it happens," Mickey says, even as he doesn't fully believe it.

"You don't know, do you?" Iggy asks, his pacing stopping and his anger turning into sadness.

"No..." Mickey responds, confused.

"Oh god, this isn't something they teach you in school." He breaths before muttering, "Not that I went," under his breath. "Mickey you weren't just covered in blood under your clothes." He says, turning to him sympathetically.

"What do you mean?" He says quietly, before realizing what he means, refusing to accept his thoughts without confirmation. "Iggy, what do you fucking mean?" He yells.

"Mickey, please breath," Iggy replies calmly, trying his hardest to disguise his anger with sympathetic calmness. "I don't know how to say this." He admits.

"Just fucking spit it out," Mickey says, losing patience, anger boiling through him at the thought of what it could be.

"Mickey, I think dad raped you," Iggy says quietly, almost refusing to accept it even as all the signs pointed to it at the sight of his baby brother covered in blood and cum only hours ago as he was passed out in the bathtub. Iggy braces himself for his brother to yell, to scream, for his anger, but he just sits there, frozen, unblinking as he stares ahead at nothing.

"Mandy was right." He whispered, it almost going unheard if it weren't for Iggy looking for any possible reaction. "I have to do something."

"Mickey, are you okay?" Iggy asks hesitantly as he slowly and tentatively places a hand on Mickey's shoulder, in an attempt at a reassuring gesture, causing Mickey to only flinch away.

"Do you think I'm fucking okay?" Mickey asks as his attempt at anger as a logical response turns into tears as he asks sadly. "I can't go back Ig." He cries as he places his head on his brother's shoulder, suddenly craving any sense of comfort.

"I know Mick. It's okay." Iggy soothed. It was in that moment that there was no longer a shadow of a doubt. No matter the reasons, this was not alright, it was not normal, and he couldn't go back, no matter what that truly meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that was hard to read, it was hard to write. I thought it was important to show how Mickey had kinda just accepted it but then like he learns this other piece of information and suddenly he can't, won't accept it anymore. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. I was feeling generous to post this long 3000+ word chapter because I just finished, and probably failed, my AP exams. Oh well. Thanks for reading.


	5. Mickey - 8.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to forget what his brother told him. He wanted to forget that it could be true. He wanted it to all be a lie, something he could laugh about. He didn’t see that happening anytime soon though. It’s not as if he was naive. He was already blamed for his mother's death, now he was using his body to replace her's.

When going home that next day, he had no intention to stay. He rushed into his room, cringing when he saw the blood on the floor, his blood. He walked into the bathroom, wetting a towel, and setting to remove the blood from the hardwood floor. It only took about thirty minutes for him to give up on the faint stains died, tossing the towel to the side and wrapping himself up in a ball, arms holding his knees to his chest, and laying down in his new puddle of tears. 

He fell asleep like so that night, lying curled up over a blood stain he couldn’t manage to completely remove. He jolted awake at five the next morning and started packing a bag of his essentials. He grabbed some outfits, his wallet - despite it being mostly empty - a lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and his toothbrush. 

It was around seven when he walked to his sister's room to find it empty. It was when he saw this that he simply laid down on his bed, returning to his previous fetal position, and wished himself to sleep, sleeping without thinking about what happened to him. Of course, he didn’t really have any clue what happened, just what Iggy told him, but his brain didn’t fail to inform him of all the details of what could have happened. 

He knew what happened to him yet he couldn’t remember, and a part of him what thankful for that piece of ignorance but overall he felt like an idiot, he was being traumatized, having nightmares, over something he didn’t even remember. He was just another sorry victim who couldn’t even remember his own story, but even though he couldn’t remember, he wanted to forget. 

He wanted to forget what his brother told him. He wanted to forget that it could be true. He wanted it to all be a lie, something he could laugh about. He didn’t see that happening anytime soon though. It’s not as if he was naive. He was already blamed for his mother's death, now he was using his body to replace her's. 

He didn’t want to think about it anymore, about his brother saying he believed his father raped him. As much as Mickey wanted to think it was all a lie, why would he lie, and would it really be so shocking, would it be the worst thing he’s done? Probably not, and it’d only get worse if he didn’t leave, he knew that. 

A few hours had passed and he still hadn’t managed to sleep again, his head swarming with thoughts he couldn’t seem to get rid of. It was then Mandy walked into her room, staring straight at her brother who looked out of the ordinary as he curled in on himself. She could tell he had been crying from the redness around his eyes.

“Mickey?” She asked disbelievingly. 

At realizing his sister had entered the room, he snapped up, sitting straight on the side of the bed. “I’m alright, sorry, I just wanted to see you.”

“Mickey, what’s going on?” She asked, closing the door behind her slowly and sitting down beside him.

“I need to leave here, but I can’t leave you behind.” He stated simply.

“What do you mean?” She asked, glancing over at him.

“I’ve had enough of the way dad treats me. I don’t feel safe here anymore and it’s not just because where we live.” He responded, trying to be blunt and forward, giving enough information that she won’t ask for more but little enough that he doesn’t actually share anything.

“Okay. Do you want to talk about it?” She asked carefully as if she was thinking about each individual word.

“Not really.” He answered looking down, shaking his head slightly.

“Do you know where we’re going to go?”

“Not yet, but for now, I’m going to Iggy’s and his girlfriend’s.”

“You think he’ll let you stay with him?” She asked again, confused because as much as she loves Iggy, he’s not very generous. Especially when it comes to having his own place to stay, he’s not fond of family staying there. He claims he left for a reason, he likes his personal space.

“Yeah, he will. I know he will.” He said, slightly confident behind his quiet, broken down voice.

“If you insist.” She said, almost non-believing. 

“He actually asked me to stay with him. He doesn’t want to leave you alone with dad either.” Mickey replied, more confident now by his sister’s slightly joking tone.

“What’d you do to garner that? He owes you money or something? Drugs?” She asked, attempting sarcasm to lighten the mood and to hopefully make her brother smile. When it worked and he showed a small but sincere smile, he replied quietly but honestly.

“He’s worried about me.” Once again sticking with enough information to answer it without too much information to actually share anything.

“Ah,” She says before pausing to look around. “When we going?” 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” she replies standing up, glancing at Mickey before continuing to glance around the room. “Well get.”

“Huh?” He replies, confused.

“You want me to get ready. So get.” She replies simply, using her hand as if she is flicking him away. To this Mickey smiles slightly and stands, starting to head out of her room. “I’m always here for you Mick.” She reminds quietly before Mickey closes the door behind him and heads to his room, leaving feeling better then he did when he arrived.

~~~

When Mickey and Mandy arrived at Iggy's, Cassie, Iggy's girlfriend was the only one home. Initially, she looked confused, shocked even, to see them, but that quickly dispersed when she remembered the night before and even though Iggy had not mentioned inviting them to her, it suddenly seemed like the only logical choice. She let them in with wide arms and a kind demeanor. She didn't know how long they would be staying with her, all she knew is what she had seen happen to Mickey and that he talked with his brother and now he and his sister had packed bags and were in her living room. They had an extra mattress and a couch, them staying for a while wouldn't be a problem, but she couldn't help but worry about how long they would be staying. 

Cassie gave Mandy the mattress and Mickey the couch, handing them extra sheets and quickly showing them around the house. Mandy looked pleased yet skeptical with the openness yet she glanced over at Mickey, eyes bright and white teeth showing with sincerity, and her resolve seemed to melt. 

"Thank you so much, Cassie, for letting us stay with you. You have no idea how thankful I am." Mickey said with a smile as he sat down on the couch, setting his bag down on the floor as Mandy started walking upstairs to her mattress. 

"It's the least I could do after everything." She replied, feeling guilty against her better judgment for what she saw. Mostly a motherly urge told her to look out for Mickey, make sure his dad never lays another hand on him again.

"You didn't have to do anything." Mickey reminded. "I'm not your responsibility and you didn't do anything wrong."

"No, but you're Iggy's responsibility and he barely knows his left from right, so by transference, you're my responsibility." She said kindly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Thank you. I'm sorry you had to see me like that." He tacked on that last part sadly, choking it out without a breath in-between.

"I'm sorry any of that happened. If you need a friendly ear, I'm here. Oh look, that rhymed." She told him with a smile before realizing that last comment was probably not appropriate by the sad look in his eyes. "Not the time." She added quietly, mostly speaking to herself.

"I'm going to go upstairs, help settle your sister in a bit, do you need anything?" She asked quietly as she slowly stood, groaning slightly at the effort.

"You've done more than enough." He replied kindly despite the frown etched into his face by his thoughts he thought he had shaken for the time being but that apparently never left. "Before you talk to her though, could you just not tell Mandy."

"What do you mean?" She asked facing him after turning to the stairs.

"She doesn't know. I mean, she does, but she doesn't? She knows some things, you know how she is, she kinda pried them from me, but she doesn't know the new thing, the biggie. Just don't tell her, please?" He replied quickly, trying to get through it as quickly as possible so he could go back to trying to dispel it from his thoughts.

"Of course. I won't say a word." She informed him with a smile before walking upstairs.

The silence that Mickey used to revel in finding him laying down, curling into his now all-too-familiar fetal position, as his thoughts hit him full force. He didn't want to think about it, not anymore. He couldn't help but wonder if it was even a big deal, or if he was just making something out of nothing. He knew he didn't remember it, he knew he likely never would, but his imagination was a cruel thing and the event played in his mind anyway. The more he tried to forget, the more pointless it seemed as thoughts so vivid they seemed more like memories popped into his head.

As bad and all-consuming as the thoughts started becoming, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Guilty for pushing his problems onto his brother and Cassie. It didn't matter how nice and accepting they seemed, he couldn't help but feel like a burden. He couldn't help but feel as if they didn't care, they were only pretending because they pitied him. He wondered if it was even anything he deserved pity over. It wasn't as if he could remember anyway. He kept telling himself the knowledge - not memory, his memories are not real, he does not remember - it was still fresh, and that it would fade over time. He hoped that was right.

In the meantime, he'd get comfortable on the couch.

~~~

It was late that night Iggy came home. He had offered his home to Mickey and by extension Mandy. He didn't fully expect them to take him up on it, but when he walked into Mickey sleeping on his couch, a pained expression on his face as he laid down with his sneakers still on, clutching a packed bag, he knew they were there to stay.

He felt good about it, letting his brother stay with him, but he knew it wasn't a permeant solution. His father still knew where he was, even if it would not be as easy to harm him, and he hadn't discussed it with Cassie. He was going to tell her when he got home, but he assumed he's already figured it out. He knew she probably wasn't mad, she had seen Mickey last night, she was the one to figure out about the rape and call for him to make sure she wasn't seeing things, yet he still hadn't had the proper conversation you have with someone before letting someone stay in their house. These thoughts caused him to drag his feet upstairs to their room.

"You're finally home." She patronized as he slowly opened the door and gleamed in.

"It appears so is Mickey and Mandy?" He replied questionably, testing the waters of how she feels about it.

"Yep, it's probably for the best but when was I going to figure out about that?" She looked up at him, questioning and almost challenging look in her eyes.

With a sigh, Iggy approached the bed, sitting down and toeing off his shoes. "I was going to tell you tonight, but it appears they beat me to the punchline."

"Well, if you asked them, I was the reincarnation of Saint Theresa. You're welcome. Next time just let me know. Did you think I'd say no?" She asked, her voice showing she was slightly hurt by the fact that he thought she may reject them, but overall it was masked by an attempt to keep the conversation lighthearted.

"I knew you'd accept them, you let me in and I'm practically a stray. I just, I guess I wanted to be with my brother, you know, be a shoulder to cry on and all that shit. I don't know, I don't think I was too much help. When he wasn't there this morning, I kinda just tried to tell myself it was a bad dream, didn't want to think about it much. I don't know if that makes any sense. I'm sorry for not telling you." He replied solemnly even as he tried to feign an enigmatic appearance.

"You're lucky you have the best girlfriend alive." She teased. "I'm not mad at you, not really. It's just a bummer, you know. I mean, what kind of dad does that, any of that, to their son. I mean he never did anything like that to you, right?" 

"No, and that's the thing I don't get. He never laid a hand on me, he was always a great father. I mean, a year or two ago he became less patient and a more hostile but he never hurt me. I heard he had gone to jail for violence, I didn't know it was to Mickey." He paused. "I just don't get it, what did he do? What about Mandy?"

As Iggy finally settled into bed after taking off his coat and removing his jeans so he was only into his boxers, Cassie settled up close to him as she replied. "I don't believe he's hurt, Mandy. From what I picked up Mandy thought it had stopped once he got back from the slammer, but then she started getting 'bad vibes' or something and finally talked to him and she could just tell once she brought it up by how he reacted, you know, tells and all that. A day later, Mickey is asking about coming here with her and now she's here." 

"It doesn't make any fucking sense," Iggy replied silently, yet he was angry and it comes off in his words. "No kid deserves that shit, I don't care what or if he did anything to deserve it. He's a fucking kid. He didn't even know. He claimed it had never happened before. He said he's been beaten up before but never lost consciousness, never fucking raped. He didn't even remember! He doesn't remember yet I can't stop seeing him laying there. Cassie, when I found him, I thought he was dead." He choked out the last part as a tear started leaving his right eye, causing him to quickly wipe it away hoping she didn't notice, but she did.

With that, Cassie wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head lightly on his shoulder to provide a sense of comfort. "It's probably best he doesn't remember. Can't hurt as much that way, right? He doesn't have to feel it. He'll be alright, maybe not now, I mean he's got some bad bruises and he was bleeding a lot, but he'll survive."

"What if he didn't?" Iggy couldn't help but ask.

"It never helps to bother ourselves with what if's. He did, that's what matters. Now we just need to be there for him. He may not remember everything, or in his case anything, but memories come back and you can't imagine how he feels right now. Thought before all that, get some sleep." She told him, turning to face him through his last sentence. "Turn off the lights and lay with me. It's been a long day." She ended with as she laid down, Iggy and her settling into sleep.

Mickey would wake up in the middle of the night from the nightmares that night. He still managed anyway to get to school on Monday and for weeks after that, he focused on school. Anything to push the thoughts aside. Iggy and Cassie were nice, yet he still didn't want to talk about it. The more time passing, the more he remembered, though he told himself it was still just his imagination, though he knew deep down they were memories. He didn't want to remember. Mandy, with all her hot-headed curiosity, was told he'd been beaten until he blacked out and Iggy found him, causing Mandy to finally make sense of everything and become almost eerily quiet about the subject, yet Mickey doubted he'd ever feel comfortable with anyone knowing about how his father raped him. He didn't even feel comfortable with Cassie and Iggy knowing, he didn't feel comfortable with himself knowing, but he couldn't do much about that. In the meantime, he'd go to school, trying to avoid the replays in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself too, it's okay. I know I should have uploaded sooner, really, I do, yet I suck so naturally I made you wait a long time and am making you wait even longer on my other story, Broken Souls. I have no excuses, but I am still determined to finish it even if I make it painfully slow. Feel free to yell at me in the comments, but like please don't because it'll hurt my feels. If anybody is even reading this story, comments are lovely and I hope you enjoyed regardless. Have a good day Y'all. Also, I wrote the first half like a month ago and just tonight decided to get my shit together so if it feels like they were written by two different people, it's been a long month.


	6. Ian - 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian couldn't help but watch him, his eyebrows furled, a slightly pained look in his eyes. He looked so alone like something was haunting his thoughts. Ian wanted to go up and ask why, soothe his mind, but he didn't. He just sat there and watched him, thinking he was kinda cute, but then instantly thinking that he should not think that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this takes place right where the last chapter ends

For the most part life for Ian was normal, simple even. There were clear differences separating him from other families nonetheless - his absent, alcoholic father, and his decidedly chaotic, crowded household ran by his oldest sister. Despite that, life went on for him like normal. He went to school, went to baseball practice after school, then went home and attempted his homework which was mostly just spelling practice, addition, and subtraction; things he just didn't care for, but that was school, so he did it anyway. 

As he was sitting in his homeroom classroom, he couldn't help but watch the clock. Lunch was soon, and as any normal seven-year-old boy, he was waiting, counting down - the only true use of those subtraction skills; how long until lunch and therefore recess. It was lunch that Monday when he noticed this boy sitting alone, already doing his homework. He looked kinda sad, but he mostly just gave off an air of avoidance. Ian remembered him, he was in Lip's grade, almost two years older by extension. At first, it didn't make any sense why he would be alone, but then he recognized him as Mickey Milkovich. It wasn't as if Ian had anything against the boy, he was actually kinda cute, not that Ian knew what that meant, it was just that everyone kind of had something against the boy even if they couldn't label it. He was short-tempered, had a bad habit of snapping at teachers, and that was only when he did show up. That's why it made no sense to see him so absorbed in his school work like he was trying to block out the rest of the world. Ian had heard rumors of some of the shit he'd gone through, mostly from a couple years back, but looking at him like that he couldn't help but wonder why he was sitting like that, so focused. He knew he shouldn't talk to him, he'd heard the stories of the cops talking to him when he was a year younger than Ian currently was, something about his dad. People were afraid of Mr. Milkovich, and therefore people didn't really talk to Mickey, dear god they become friends with his son, the son they all knew his dad hated. 

Ian couldn't help but watch him, his eyebrows furled, a slightly pained look in his eyes. He looked so alone like something was haunting his thoughts. Ian wanted to go up and ask why, soothe his mind, but he didn't. He just sat there and watched him, thinking he was kinda cute, but then instantly thinking that he should not think that. 

~~~

It was about a month later Ian had enough. Everyday Mickey was always in the same spot, absorbed in something or other, whether it be a book, homework, or him rereading random receipts with a calculator and a notebook. He was either very interested in finance, or he was simply desperate, anything to distract him. He had enough of looking at his weary face. By looking at him you'd think he'd seen the horrors of war, but he probably just got out of math class and was too young for any battlefield. Ian knew the stigma around the boy, that his dad beat him, that it was because he was gay or something of that nature. He knew he shouldn't talk to him, he didn't want to be looked down on, but he couldn't help but wonder what had him so absorbed in his books. People were throwing around reasons as to why he must be acting so strange lately, people loved to talk about him but god forbid they just talk to him. Some people said his dad was looking for him, that he's running away. Some people said he came out, even though that one seemed far-fetched, and was finally embracing his sexuality. However, he couldn't drag himself away as he walked over to the boy, bagged lunch in hand.

Sitting down, he smiled brightly at the boy, placing the bag on the table. "Hello, I'm Ian."

"Hey." He replied, not bothering to look up from his math homework. Division, how fun. 

"What's your name?" Ian asked even though he already knew. He just wanted to talk to him, but he didn't seem to be very responsive.

"Mickey." He replied coldly as he did before, eyes still glued as his pencil moved in tandem.

"Mickey?" Ian pried.

"Milkovich." He finally glanced up to see Ian staring at him inquisitively. "The fuck you looking at?" He snapped his patience seemingly constantly thin.

"Sorry. I'm just confused." Ian replied, absently hoping that would settle it.

"About?"

"You." To this Mickey's eyebrows raised as he looked at him incredulously.

"Care to elaborate?" Mickey deadpanned.

"Yeah, it's just you always seem so focused on schoolwork, but you never used to care. I mean, it's none of my business but I can't help but wonder." Ian told him in response.

"You're right."

"Huh?" Ian asked.

"It is none of your business. Now do you want anything or is that all?" Mickey replied with all the venom an elementary school kid could muster.

"I don't want anything," Ian emphasized. "I just wanted to talk to you. Be a friend and all that shit."

"Thanks but no thanks. You can go, I don't need the pity." He replied, going back to his schoolwork.

"What?" Ian asked, confused by the direction of the conversation.

"I don't need the pity. What is it people are saying this time? Something about my dad? No, that's ones a bit old, huh, people are creative, let me guess. They think I'm having some sort of mental break? No, that'd go above their heads. Do they think I'm gay?" To that, Mickey looked up at Ian again, and Ian still looked confused but also as if he'd struck a nail. "Ah, a fag, well that would explain shit, but not why you're here. Let me guess, you're liberal, trying to prove everything will be okay. Well, guess what, I'm not fucking gay. Does that answer it all?"

"I think that answers enough. You're just a stubborn asshole." Ian said, his patience diminishing with his rude tone.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Mickey replied, setting his pencil down and glaring at him as his eyebrows furrowed as if he was trying to understand the redhead sat in front of him. 

"I'm trying to be nice. But that's so odd to you, you instantly jump to the offense, thinking I want something. I didn't want anything but to talk, but now I want to go." With that, Ian grabbed his lunch and stood, going back to his usual table fuming.

Ian couldn't help but be mad at himself for snapping at the other boy, but he was still a bit angry, and it showed as he sat down next to his friend Conner.

"What were you doing talking to Milkovich? He confesses his love for you or something?" Connor teased, but Ian was not quite in the mood.

"No, he was being a dick like everyone says. I was trying to figure out why he'd gone all mental all of a sudden but he was a dick before I could even begin." Ian started unpacking his lunch, bitting into his sandwich with unnecessary force as he finished speaking.

"It's probably because of all the dicks he's around, and I ain't talking people." Connor joked, chuckling at his own joke.

"He claims he ain't gay. I don't know, I don't really care. There goes me trying to be nice to him though." He finished as he swallowed his bite, sipping from his Capri Sun. 

"Whatever, fags lie," Connor replied, with an air of ignorance of his friend's anger.

"What?" Ian replied, somehow mentally avoiding the homophobic comments up until then. He wasn't really sure why that pissed him off so much, his friend was just teasing, but he found himself opening his mouth and words coming out anyway. "Wanna say that shit again?"

"Chill dude, I was just teasing." He replied, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Besides, what do you care about him anyway, you said he was a dick."

"I don't care about him," Ian replied defensively.

"Okay." He paused, elongating the word and glancing at him questioningly. "Then why do you care?" 

"I don't know, can we just change the subject." 

"Whatever dude," Connor replied, going back to eating his lunch.

~~~

Ian couldn't help but think about his earlier conversation with Mickey, and even Connor. Why did he care so much? I mean, the boy was cute but then again, straight guys don't think like that and he's straight, so he doesn't actually think he is cute. Was he straight? Of course, he was, he had to be. Whatever, it didn't actually matter. Life went on like normal. He still couldn't stop thinking about Mickey though, he wasn't sure why but normally when a thought wouldn't leave him alone it resulted in him going to his brother, Lip.

"Lip." He greeted when he entered their shared bedroom.

"Ian." Lip greeted back, understanding his brother wanted to talk and sitting down beside him, grabbing his pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Fuck it." He mumbled before just getting straight to the point. "What do you know about Mickey Milkovich?"

"Why do you care about a Milkovich?" Lip asked.

"I don't. I mean, I don't think I do. I don't know Lip, just, what do you know about him." Ian responded, unnecessarily defensive.

"I don't really know anything about him," Lip emphasized the word know before continuing, "But I've heard some fucked up shit recently."

"Like?" Ian pressed.

"Like apparently, someone in the neighborhood saw him passed out, really bloody and shit, like he got his ass completely handed to him, in front of his house. Which is whatever, I mean he's a Milkovich but apparently when his older brother saw him, freaked the fuck out, started yelling at him to wake up and shit. I have no clue but I hear he's been acting weird since." Lip gossiped, spilling the words like they were a hidden treasure.

"That's why I'm confused. I mean, I didn't know that but I kept seeing him zeroed in on his homework or a book which is odd because before that I heard it was odd for him to even go to class." Ian replied as he tried to make sense of his own curiosity.

"His sister, totally hottie, said they moved or some shit. So why do you care?" Lip asked again, trying to see if he could maybe get a different answer.

"I don't know, it's just odd is all. I tried talking to him, he was a total dick." Ian, still seated on his bed beside Lip grabbed his cigarette, inhaled once, and passed it back as he exhaled.

"You tried talking to a Milkovich?" Lip asked skeptically.

"That's what I said," Ian replied, patience once again thin.

"Fuck dude, you got a death wish?" Lip teased.

"Clearly. He didn't look that scary to me." Ian replied.

"That's what makes him scary. His father is Terry Milkovich, he doesn't have his tricks on display like his brother Iggy does with his drug dealing or Mandy does with her flirting, you don't know what he can do. Stay away from the Milkoviches." Lip resolves before placing his cigarette in an old ashtray by the window, setting down the pack and lighter, and going to lay in his bed. "The less you interact, or even just think about him, the better. I don't care if he's a mystery, he's a Milkovich." With that, the conversation was over.

~~~

Ian didn't listen to Lip. He did, for a little while, but he couldn't help but feel slightly drawn to the youngest Milkovich boy. That's what found him, a couple weeks after last time, sitting down in front of the boy at lunch.

"I thought you wanted to go," Mickey commented absently as Ian sat, looking down at his English homework.

"Sorry for being a dick, but you were being a dick too, so I'm not that sorry." Ian placated, hoping that would put the last conversation behind them.

"Whatever dude. Did you want something?" Mickey asked, trying to get to the point.

"To talk." Ian tried.

"Seriously dude? I thought we 'talked' about this, I'm not a fag." Mickey was quick to defend.

"I'm not calling you a fag, no need to get so defensive."

"Instinct," Mickey replied unheedingly. "What do you want to talk about then?"

"I didn't think this far ahead." Ian joked causing Mickey to chuckle against his better judgment. "Umm, what's your favorite color?"

"My favorite color, really?" Mickey asked slightly shocked by what he deemed as an absurd question.

"Sure, why not. Mickey Milkovich, what is your favorite color?" Ian asked jokingly, happy for a conversation of theirs to turn positive.

"Dark red," Mickey answered.

"Why dark red?" Ian asked.

"Why even have a favorite color. I suppose I like it because it's final." 

"Isn't black typically the color if you're going for finality?" Ian wondered.

"Sure, I guess. But when you see dark red, there isn't much more after that." Mickey answered. "You're being awfully picky, you still haven't said your favorite color."

"I think my favorite color is green," Ian spoke questioningly like he was testing the answer for himself.

"Green? Now, why's that? And don't try any bullshit like it's the color of your eyes." Mickey teased, quickly admonishing himself for even noticing the color of the other boy's eyes.

"Because, when I think green I think like grass and plants and where there are grass and plants, there is life," Ian answered in a positive tone, seemingly oblivious to the drastic difference in their answers.

They continued talking the rest of lunch that day, about random things like their favorite animals versus the animal they would want to be, their favorite subjects. They didn't bring up the rumors again, some things are best left unsaid.

~~~

The next day at lunch Ian went back to Mickey. They talked about lighter subjects for the duration of lunch, easily bonding. By the time it was recess, Ian decided to go to Connor, he was his best friend after all.

"Hey, Connor." Ian approached.

"Ian." He responded, almost coldly.

"What's up?" 

"I feel like I should be asking you that," Connor responded.

"What do you mean?"

"You and Mickey? You two besties now? Gonna go down to the courthouse and tie the knot like a couple of queers?" Connor responded.

"We're just friends, not as good of friends as us though. Can we just play tag or something?" Ian asked, slightly hurt by the accusation.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Don't let Milkovich play though, don't want cooties." Connor replied, slightly teasing with the last sentence. They are sophisticated second graders, they know cooties aren't a thing.

"Cooties are from girls Connor." Ian reminded.

"That and queer dudes." Connor corrected.

"He's not gay Connor." Ian corrects.

"Gays lie," Connor replies. "Tag, you're it." He declares as he quickly taps Ian's shoulder and takes off running.

~~~

About a month later and Connor was still being an asshole about the whole being friends with Mickey thing. Ian didn't care as much as he thought he would though. The more he thought about it, the more he found Connor to be an overall asshole, not just about this topic. Ian hadn't cared too much though because Connor was cool, and that made up for his character defaults. That was until he became friends with Mickey. Mickey, despite his rough exterior and rude beginning, was nice to him, friendly. Almost desperate for someone to talk with and hang out with. As the month progressed, he kept drifting from Connor and getting closer and closer with Mickey, which was nice. He still sometimes got looks from hanging out with him, but he found he didn't mind. Mickey was like a breath of fresh air, he didn't seem to care about what other people thought and Ian didn't want to either. He didn't have to care when he was with Mickey. 

He didn't tell Lip he was hanging out with Mickey. He felt like he wouldn't understand so it was best to avoid it. So avoid it he did. Eventually, he just said fuck it, and invited Mickey over, he figured it wouldn't hurt, he was his friend now after all. 

It was after school, around four in the afternoon when Mickey showed up, knocking lightly on the door. Fiona went up to answer it, slowly opening the door, taking note of the appearance of the boy in front of her.

"Hello?" She greeted, waiting for him to say why he was there.

"Hi, I'm Mickey." He replied, causing Fiona to look at him as if asking for him to continue. "Ian invited me."

Fiona didn't know Ian invited anyone over but she didn't mind, "Oh, okay." With that, she yelled at Ian to come to the front door.

Ian, running down, arrived at the door slightly out of breath. "Hey, Mickey!" He greeted.

"Ian," Mickey said with a smile. At that, Fiona retreated to the kitchen.

"Glad you could come over." Ian beamed, excited to hang out with his friend out of school.

"Same. You got any food? I'm starving." Mickey asked as they entered the living room.

"Yep. How do pop tarts sound?" Ian asked, continuing to walk into the kitchen.

"Great." He answered, following Ian into the kitchen where Ian grabbed then from the counter, off-brand as expected, and popped them into the rusty toaster.

As they sat down at the table, pop tarts in hand, Lip slowly walked down the stairs, seeming tired despite the time. "Ian." He greeted, his voice groggy. "Who's over?"

"Mickey Milkovich," Ian responded, having a feeling of what Lip would be thinking right now after warning him about hanging out with Milkovich.

"Mickey?" He asked rhetorically. "Cool, cool," He mumbled. "Can I talk to you Ian, just for a minute?" 

Before looking at his brother and responding, Ian couldn't help but notice the confused but slightly scared look in Mickey's blue eyes. "Sure thing." With that, he set the pop tart down on the paper plate, stood up, and followed Lip to the front of the house.

Speaking quietly yet still with anger, Lip demanded. "What the fuck are you doing hanging out with Mickey Milkovich?"

"He's my friend." Ian defended.

"Since when?" 

"A while now."

"And when the fuck was you going to tell your eldest brother?" Lip continued interrogating.

"I wasn't" Ian responded, causing Lip to look at him as if saying 'do you really want to go there?'

"You're making a mistake." Was all Lip said before deciding he was done with this conversation, the damage was clearly already done, and walking back upstairs.

Ian stood there for a moment, replaying the conversation over in his head. Eventually, he headed back to the kitchen table, sitting down in the chair he was in previously and bitting into is pop tart. "What was that about?" Mickey asked.

Ian didn't see the point in lying to him, they may avoid some topics, but Mickey was his friend now, and he didn't want to lie to him. "You."

"Oh. Mind telling me why?" 

"He's not a big fan of you," Ian told.

Mickey didn't seem to understand that response. What had he done to make it so the older Gallagher sibling didn't like him? "What did I do?"

"It's nothing you did. It's that you're a Milkovich." Ian clarified, instantly regretting it.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Mickey, even as he tried to hide it, was ignored and slightly angry by this, and it showed in his tone of voice and demeanor.

"Your dad..." Ian said carefully, as not to offend the boy. With that though, he just seemed to shrink, as if trying to become invisible, a look of understanding and almost fear showing in his face. 

"Because if he'd beat his own son what would he do to someone who upset him or his kids?" He mumbled, half hoping Ian didn't hear. He was pretty sure most kids at school knew about his dad being arrested a couple years ago after he showed up with bruises everywhere, but he just implied it wasn't a one-time thing, that it was possibly still happening. With that realization playing in his head, he froze a bit with fear.

Ian didn't know how to respond. When Lip told him about how he was found passed out, ass completely handed to him, he had assumed it had been a fight with another kid, a kid who felt guilty and placed him at his door, but now he couldn't stop thinking that it was Mickey's dad, and that thought scared him. However, it didn't scare him because how could someone do that to their son, he knew bad dads, that wasn't his fear. He wasn't scared that he gets hurt either, no, he was scared for Mickey. That it'd happen again, that he wouldn't get better next time. He couldn't help but wonder if that was why he moved as well. In the meantime though, he just sat there silent, absently staring ahead, trying, and failing, to think of something, anything, to say.

"You don't have to say anything." Mickey finally puts him out of his misery. "I'm a freak, I know. I can leave if you want."

That quickly snaps Ian out of his momentary trance. "No, no. You're not a freak and I don't want you to leave unless that is you want to. I just didn't know what to say. I didn't want to say the wrong thing and I ended up saying nothing." 

"It's okay," Mickey responded lightly, quickly trying to steer the conversation away from this. "Thanks for the pop tart. I was fucking starving. Mind if we work on homework for a bit? You distracted me too much at lunch and I hate doing it at home, I don't care if that's the point."

That causes Ian to chuckle a bit. "Sure." He responds with a smile, pulling out his own homework, he might as well if Mickey is, right?  
They work for around thirty minutes before going into the living room and watching whatever they find on tv. Mickey leaves at 8:30, insisting he can walk home after being offered a ride by Fiona. Fiona may not be sixteen yet but she looks old enough to drive and does anyway sometimes. If you like her, as long as she follows the rules of the road, there should be no problem. 

Ian likes Mickey. He's still pretty sure just as a friend, but he still thinks the other boy is kinda cute. No matter why he thinks that the boy is a friend now, and as friends do, they continue to sit together at lunch. Ian doesn't talk to Connor anymore, and he can't honestly say he regrets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only is this my longest chapter, but I uploaded only four days after my last update. Not bad. Don't get used to it though. I'm mostly finished with a chapter for my other story, fucking finally. I don't know how long it'll take or how good it'll be but I'm honestly determined to finish my current stories. I hope you enjoyed. Comments are always great motivation to keep going with a story and look, Ian and Mickey finally met and they're friends! Naturally, considering their age, they're gonna be friends for a while but we both know, there is eventually gonna be more to that. (Also Connor is a dick and Ian is better off without that asshole. That's all) Have a great day/night!


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